Page 33 of Total Exposure

Turn up the heat.

But there’s like six or seven thermostats in this house. That might just confuse her.

You haven’t seen the master bedroom yet. It’s very nice. Go sleep there.

That conjures up a lot of innuendo…

You’re cold. Go upstairs. Find the master bedroom. Get in the bed, cover up, and go to sleep.

There we go. That’s the winner.

I fold it in half, write her name on the front, get up, leave the control room, make my way upstairs, and walk down the hallway to the library.

It’s weird to see her in person after watching her all day. Her body is contorted into some semblance of a fetal position and the blanket is diagonal across her upper body—because that’s the only way it’s big enough to cover anything, and whoever the fuck came up with decorative blankets needs to spend the night in this cold-ass mansion on the floor trying to use one—and she’s… shivering.

I enter the room as quietly as I can, wishing I wasn’t wearing boots, acutely aware that the hardwood floors are ancient and most of the boards are creaking.

But I manage, because that’s how I roll, place the folded piece of paper right next to her softly breathing mouth, and back out the way I came.

Chapter Ten - Evangeline

I dream of birds and summer days.

I string together words in books that earn me praise.

But the words are notes and the books are songs,

and the birds and summer days are gone.

The winter wind is strong and sounds

like the missing music I lost and found.

I wake up, confused. Still hearing birds. Still thinking it’s summer. But I am chilled to the bone, and shaking in my core, and the winter wind is blowing outside with force. And then I remember where I am. What I’m doing. And why the fuck are there birds in this house?

My sunglasses are all askew on my face, so when I open my eyes in the darkness, I can see a little more than I’d be able to had they been affixed properly.

The library, I remind myself.

I glance at the corner where the violin is propped up on the stand. The sun has set and there’s just a faint glow of light coming through the window. Outlining it, as if I needed it outlined.

The song of birds is coming from a speaker somewhere. I look up and find all the cameras, then quickly straighten out my sunglasses to hide my eyes. But that just sucks all the remaining light out of the room, blinding me.

Pushing up from the floor, I get dizzy. So I stay on all fours and hang my head for a few moments, staring down at the pattern on the rug. It’s an ancient rug. Like a real, ancient Persian fucking rug. I can feel the bare threads under my fingertips. The softness of the wool it’s woven of.

And that’s when I see the note.

Evangeline, it says, written in neat print and all caps. And there’s a little squiggly line underneath the letters that looks like a fancy, elongated cursive lowercase e, but it isn’t an e. It’s… just a fancy little squiggly line.

I look up at the nearest camera again and say, “What’s this?”

I’m not expecting an answer, and it never comes, so I just sit up better so my legs are underneath me. I straighten out my sweater. The second the thin blanket falls down from my shoulders, I shiver with cold.

But the cold can wait.

My watcher has sent me a message.

Is this part of the treatment?